To Avoid Yesterday's Dance
by Sparkly Palm Tree
Summary: Sixteen year old Dick Grayson, fired by Bruce, is running away from Gotham, with no money, no plans, and very little confidence in the human race when he meets Red Hood. Jason's just determined not to let Bruce screw up any more Robins, like he has in his time.


**Reaper by Sia and Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie for music**

 **i don't own thi :(**

iJason's first thought when he wakes up in a dirty and familiar alley surrounded by old not-friends-but-not-quite-enemies is: _Not fucking again._

He hasn't seen these people since he was thirteen. Never wanted to again. But when has Jason ever had a choice in his life?

They're all asleep, tucked tightly into their falling-apart sleeping bags or blankets. No pillows, Jason remembers. They lay their heads on their arms, or the cold ground.

His legs are the only things that fit in his sleeping bag.

He slips out quickly, silently creeping away from the group. He can't think, not surrounded by the clouds of marijuana. Plus all these memories are kind of freaking him out.

" _We're gonna make it big one day, just watch._ "

He did make it big on some level. Gets proceeds from deals. Got adopted by the richest man in Gotham. But how many of them did?

The fresh air hits him hard, and… it's colder than it should be. It's winter. Last he'd checked, it was May. But resurrection had given him an unconventional view of time, so. Well. Any expectations of chronology were out the window. He doesn't like seeing how much time had passed.

How much he'd changed.

No snow, he notes. That'd always been a blessing for Jason on the streets. Gotham never snowed. All it ever did in the summer was rain, but apparently the water cycle took a break every winter.

The ground is dirty and the air is freezing and he'd forgotten this.

Not having issues, having always been alive, the Joker mostly sticking to bank heists and plays for power, not murdering kids that didn't know any better.

Jason takes a deep breath, because that's not territory that he wants to get into.

Not now.

He hasn't been de-aged. He still has his clothes, and finds, upon jamming his hands in his pockets in an attempt to look a little less suspicious (at least, as much as he can with three guns visibly holstered at his waist), cigarettes in his pocket. But he can't come up with much of an explanation as to how he got there with his seemingly immortal former allies, because his mind still feels fucking blank.

He nods at a newspaper vendor, before glancing down and double-taking.

 _December 1, 2009._

"Is this for real?" Jason asks, because that's like seven years ago. Shit, that _is_ seven years ago. The vendor's giving him a look, nodding slowly, like 'yeah, of course, who do you think I am?'.

Jason stands there a moment, trying to process what exactly that means. What it entails. "Well, shit, man."

A laugh. "Yo — I mean... yes. The new year _is_ kumendik." He says something else, too, but Jason isn't focusing because he just saw a flash of red, green, and yellow —

There's some brat in a Robin costume dashing across rooftops, and it takes him a minute to realise that this is _Dick_. As in Dick _Grayson_. As in Dick Grayson is _Robin_. Golden Boy was Robin just seven years ago?

Even though Grayson left instead of being killed, Jason can't help but sympathise with rebellious teenage Dick who ignored him and hated Bruce and smoked because that's what Jason is doing _now_ and —

 _2009_.

Dick was just sixteen then, (March 21, 1993, and Jason knows because he'd memorised Bruce's files on Dick Grayson in the hope that maybe he could imitate him that way).

And Jason was thirteen. And he was thirteen and a half (which he's sure of that because he celebrated, of course — with a much scrimped for milkshake — because on the streets, long lives were a rarity) when he stole the tires and became Robin 2.0.

Jason bites his lip, because _hell_. He'll be damned if he's going to let an emotionally vulnerable Dick Grayson slip through his fingers. It's definitely not because he's heard about the debacle with Deathstroke, who sounds almost as bad as Talia.

Sasha is off, fixing her life and Red Hood could use another sidekick.

And, okay. Maybe it's a little bit about not letting Bruce hurt another Robin.

But judging from the kid's swerving movements, it might already be too late for that.

-o-

Dick should have noticed the man earlier. Under any other circumstances, he probably would've seen the guy and known his intentions before the weird helmet dude knew them _himself_.

But all he can think is, " _You don't deserve to be Robin_!" and " _You almost got them killed!_ " and " _You aren't good enough_!" and " _Get out of my house!"_ and " _You're fired_!"

So what that he's been fired as Batman's partner. That won't stop him from being Robin.

Or so he tells himself as he fights back tears, because he tries, he does. Maybe Bruce is right, that he isn't good enough, but he tries. He tries so hard to live up to Bruce's massive, impossible expectations that it hurts and his bruised and bloodied body doesn't want to get out of bed some mornings.

Because he's juggling his senior year (he _told_ Bruce he wasn't sure if he could handle skipping two grades), captaining the soccer team (" _Are you sure, sirs, that another extracurricular is necessary_?"), his intense gymnastics regimen (if he wants to get back to the circus, he can't get rusty, he _can't_ ), his Robin casework and training (which leaves him with more bruises than the actual criminals), and patrol.

 _Patrol_ that lasts pretty much all night.

Once he went an entire school week with only three hours of sleep. Still got A's on all his midterms, even if now he can't tell you a thing from sophomore year.

And _English_? English isn't even his first language. It's his _fourth_.

So, _yes_ , Bruce, he can take the pressure, but. But...it's from all sides. And Bruce doesn't trust him. Probably never did. Definitely hates him now. Said so. Never needed a partner, or wanted a son. And Dick doesn't want another father.

 _Yours is buried six feet under_ , a morbid part of Dick's mind reminds him. _At least he loved you, _his optimism offers weakly, like that will assuage this.

He's perfectly fine with no love, but hate? _Hate_?

Dick panics, because the person that he's trusted _unconditionally_ , even in his _darkest moments,_ who has saved his life _countless_ times, who he's devoted half his life to... _hates_ him?

That's pressure he can't take. He doesn't understand. And Dick doesn't like understanding.

So he runs.

It's what he's good at.

Picking up life and moving on is in his blood. Really. His mother ran away from home to be with Dad, and Dad was a full blooded Rom. " _If you don't know where you go, always know where you came from,_ " his father always said. " _Homes of that kind are never permanent," he said._

Dick only wishes he'd listened.

But, when considering how massive Gotham is, it's unsurprising that he hasn't gotten very far. But if he can just make it to Hunt and Bantams where he's got his own, secret version of the bat cave —

The man grabs him by the scruff of his neck and — _ow_.

He's _huge_ , with a crimson helmet, leather jacket, guns (but if Bruce means nothing to him now, shouldn't his morals too?), and...a red bat symbol on his chest?

 _Okay_ , Dick thinks, silently resolving to cut ties with anyone Bat-related, except maybe Alfred. _Potential alliance — terminated._

His mind catches up slowly and — _wow , Bruce, replaced me already? Guess he really didn't need a kid trailing after him._

"Kid," the Joker imitator — because that's what this guy has to be, right? — greets casually, sounding especially relaxed for someone talking to the Boy Wonder. Or maybe that's just how people see him when there's no Batman. He says it like he knows Dick personally.

"Who're you?" Dick demands, not able to remember the name of the old alias until — "...Red Hood?"

The man doesn't say anything, and realises it, taking off the odd helmet, revealing a smirking face.

 _Whaaaat_? Dick's mind stalls for a moment, because this is a Herculean show of truth that Bruce didn't even bestow on Dick. He had to puzzle the Dark Knight's identity out by _himself_. "Um."

A mask hides his eyes, so Dick supposes it isn't actually the identity reveal trite but still. Red hair with black tips, probably from letting it grow out and not re-dying it, if the faded colour is any indication. And a white streak that somehow resembles those of Ra's al Ghul.

But, to his, however moderate, relief, he doesn't recognise the man. Although, perhaps that should worry him. "Well, I hope you're not expecting me to take off _my_ mask," he blurts, and regrets it immediately. As per usual.

Red Hood 2.0 just laughs. He sounds vaguely surprised that he's laughing, or maybe it's just at the idea of a smartmouthed kid in shortpants — formerly —trailing behind the Batman. The idea is laughable, even if he's graduated to tights now.

"Richard Giovanni 'Dick' Grayson, former acrobat of Haly's Circus, which is known abroad as International du Cirque de Haly. Your daddy was a Lovari Rom. You got picked up by Bruce Wayne at age eight," Red Hood's face contorts in what Dick thinks is disdain, so he of course takes advantage of it.

It's getting to sensitive topics. Some part of him recoils at the fact that his ex-guardian is now more painful to recall than his amazing, beautiful, _dead_ parents.

"Stop," Dick orders, hoping his voice sounds authoritative and not like he's about to cry even though he is. Right now, he tells himself, you need to find out how he knows so much about you. ...He knows you're Lovari. Not even Bruce knows that. Wait. "Please," he adds as an afterthought. It comes out surprisingly raw.

The man's features soften sympathetically.

Dick inhales sharply, resolving to keep it together until he knows where he's going to sleep tonight or at least until he's alone.

Wouldn't want to disparage anyone's legacy anymore than he's already done, according to Batman.

 _Wait, wait, wait,_ he realises suddenly. _He knows who you are. Fu— wait. You're only really protecting Bruce's. So, he rationalises, does it really matter all that much?_

"Who are you?" he asks finally, because, oh well. Nothing he can do about his identity now.

"I'm the Red Hood. Like you said." Red Hood shrugs, as if he's saying 'whatever, I'm just a guy imitating the fucking Joker, no big'. "Name's Jason Todd. I'm not...from here."

Dick gets the feeling he's going to be here for a while, and settles onto the edge of the rooftop, still prepared to move at any second, but comfortable enough to...well. Function. "Figured, seeing as I've never heard of you."

Jason Todd snorts, but doesn't say anything else.

"So," Dick begins, unsure of why exactly he's having an idle conversation with a gun-wielding Joker fan. But he doesn't have to worry about Bruce finding him at least — the man had made it clear that he wouldn't be bothered to deal with Dick again. "Where are you from?"

Jason inspects one of his glocks before answering. "The future, I think. Not sure how I got here actually."

 _Time travel,_ Dick considers. … _Sweet_.

"Okay," Dick purses his lips, because time travel sounds really fucking awesome, but he needs to know how this Jason Todd knows his identity, since. Well. His identity is rather personal, and even if he reciprocates Bruce's hate now, he's not going to give it up. At least, not so easily as this. "Um, great. Fantastic. _Excellent_ — but how do you know who I am?"

-o-

Jason had not considered being asked that question. To be honest, he didn't really expect to get this far.

So he lies, bu _t not really_ lies, but still lies.

He's good at that.

Every lie is based on some truth,

"In my time," he begins simply, "we're practically brothers." He wonders if he hadn't been killed, that he and Dick could have actually been like that. Dick of this time (world?) is definitely hiding some shit away, and he looks like he's repressing some serious emotions, and the one of his world? He's changed since Jason's Robin days for sure, but…

The kid looks highly skeptical of this. Jason guesses he would be too if a weird guy in leather came up to him claiming to be his brother.

Dick Jr. doesn't say anything, doesn't have to. Just raises an eyebrow and looks disbelieving.

"Well, shit, kid, do you think I carry a picture of you around in my pocket?" he asks, and considers what he could possibly know about the Golden Boy. Which is all random trivia. But, he'll wager, that's exactly what the kid is expecting."You had an elephant named Zitka, you've got a thing for redheads…" Jason snaps his fingers because he's a genius, "Your dad's leather jacket."

On one of the few weekends that Dick had spent at the Manor (completely at Alfred's insistence, since he'd had a collection of horrific injuries), Jason had needed a coat and snatched one of the brown leather variety off the coat rack. It'd been a nice jacket, and he'd intended to keep it, probably forever. It was blackened at the sleeves, and some of the leather was cracking, but felt comfortable. Comforting, even. It had not been a good decision...at the time. Now at least, the lecture was coming in handy. " _It was my dad's, before he died. Just...don't do it again,_ " basically translated to " _it's the last thing I have of him, and I almost lost it…"_

It was beyond confounding to see the infallible, rebellious Dick Grayson show any sort of emotion besides cockiness.

Robin — and it's a punch in the gut to know that this scrawny brat deserves the mantle more than the replacements and even him — nearly falls off the ledge. With Grayson balance, he recovers, tugging his cape around himself.

"How…?" Dick trails off, clutching the fabric tighter around his arms — and his ensemble doesn't exactly look designed for winter. The boy sounds broken and strong at the same time, and Jason decides that there's definitely a lot more going on than the 'I-needed-to-strike-out-on-my-own' story that he and the replacements had been fed.

Jason would be lying if he said he didn't sympathise. Empathise, even.

Bruce doesn't even realise how much he's screwed them up.

"Like I said, kid," he covers smoothly, forcing a smile — but is it really all that forced? — because he's damn sure that if anyone knows a little bit of what he went through, it's _this_ Dick Grayson. "We're brothers."

Dick frowns, and then — "So, what are you doing here? Talking to me?" In Bat-speak, he thinks, that can be construed as either a rare display of insecurity or just as curiosity.

"Don't exactly know anyone else here," he says. "I could use an ally. A partner." Jason glances around, because if he's messing up his timing, if his theory is wrong — well. This could end in disaster. "And so, I think, could you."

The boy flushes, and slumps before he squares his narrow shoulders. "A partner," Dick repeats cautiously.

 _God, I could use a cigarette right now_ , he thinks, before forcing his attention back to Golden Boy.

He nods.

-o-

Dick's breath catches in his throat.

He has approximately five options.

A) He can go back to his circus — his family. They'd take him in without a second thought. Dick could follow through with what his father always wanted for him. " _You could be the greatest_." But Bruce would know where he was, and...that's not something he's willing to risk.

B) He can crawl back to Bruce on his knees and grovel. It won't work, he admonishes himself immediately. The idea that it would is simply laughable, but. Well. Limited options. And he couldn't do that if he tried, he's so mad, so crushed, so betrayed, so...lost. He can't deal with Bruce a second longer, and he doubts he'll ever be able to.

C) Dick can leave this rooftop. Find whatever form of work a sixteen year old can get. Live put on the streets. Only, that would make it hard to patrol.

D) Go grab Roy and Donna to start some sort of rejected sidekicks club.

E) Jason Todd. The man he's only just met, who uses guns and is from the future and knows little details about Dick.

You could start fresh. You'll always have the circus, you can always find some job to work. Roy will wait for you — that's what best friends are for. And Bruce...well, he wouldn't take you back anyway.

Dick spits on his glove, holding out his hand. " _Partners_."


End file.
